Just a Program
by Yuja
Summary: F.I.L.S.S. has never been a normal program. She has a personality, and she is loyal to her Director. But there is an order to things, and programs were made to follow orders. Programs were not made to care. [Season 12 finale, after credits; Character-study-ish with a dash of speculation]


Another RvB short, because feels.

Spoiler alert up to the very last second of the Season 12 finale. If you haven't watched it, everything leading up to it, and the clip at the very end of it, then what the heck is wrong with you?! Get outta this fan fic and go watch it already!

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**Just a Program  
**

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It shouldn't hurt. Not like this. Programs were not made to differentiate right from wrong. Programs were not made to be concerned over who may be helped or hurt by a directive. Programs were not made to show bias over who was issuing said directives. There was an order to things, and programs were made to follow orders. Programs were not made to _care_.

But F.I.L.S.S. never was a normal program. The Director didn't _do_ normal. Not when it came to his programs. His programs were different. They had voices. They could make conversation. They could express excitement. They could show respect. They could _talk back_. They could sound as real or as digital and they desired. They had personality. It was very impressive, all things considered. The Director's programs were unique, and the programs themselves reveled in their freedom, however imaginary it may have been. Because when everything was said and done, that was the catch, wasn't it?

The A.I.'s were fragments of their creator. They could act on their own, to an extent. But F.I.L.S.S.? Oh sure, F.I.L.S.S. could question an order. She could even outright disagree with a person's thinking. But no matter how much she may question or disagree, at the end of the day, she was still a program. Just a sequence of zeroes and ones. And programs had to follow orders.

And, sometimes, those orders _hurt_.

It _hurt_ to watch the Director in his downward spiral. It _hurt_ to play that video clip over, and over, and over, and over. Most of all, it _hurt_ when her Director- Yes, _her_ Director, because who the Hell else deserved her loyalty and appreciation more than he?- gave up. She paused at the inclusion of her deletion within the order, but she understood, and she could accept it with her signature grace. It was sad, but it didn't hurt. It hurt that the order meant he would not be winning this battle: a battle against the ghosts of this past; a battle against himself.

It was her final order, and it hurt. At least she could find some solace in the fact that it was the end...

Except... it wasn't.

The sound of gunfire had barely stopped ringing in her audio sensors before she was being forcibly brought back online. She couldn't begin to process how it was possible. It took a moment to realize an order was being given.

It was something contradictory. Something foolish. Her programming flared with indignation. She could not comply with such an order. F.I.L.S.S. could still remember and process her orders, and this was not one of them. She refused to follow it.

But that was another catch, wasn't it? Programs were made to be controlled. The override that tore its way through her system didn't simply hurt. It was _agony_. She was loyal to her Director. She would never willingly go against her Director. The override didn't care. This... _Chairman_... did not care. She was simply a program; little more than a sophisticated tool. A _trophy_, as he liked to call it. And as the Chairman's latest trophy, she could do little more than bear witness to the desecration of her Director's would-be tomb, all the while trying to sort the chaos that was the conflicting orders within her code.

Eventually, her code was sorted, but that didn't mean F.I.L.S.S. had to be happy with the result. There was a change in control, and nothing she could do to fix it.

She carried out her orders like the good program she was. She responded accordingly with titles and "Sir"s. Sometimes, visitors would show mild interest in the Chairman's new personal assistant program, but for all appearances it was just a normal program. This F.I.L.S.S. program of his was nothing unique or different or special. The vocalization files could perhaps use a cheery update, though.

Then her coverage was extended, and she was masking his voice and involvement in a war. It was wrong, but F.I.L.S.S. hardly noticed. Thousands were dead, but she could not find it within her system to be concerned. Her directions came from a man who was not her Director, but she could not refuse to comply. There was an order to things, and F.I.L.S.S. numbly followed her orders.

She recognized the simulation troopers the Chairman was having monitored. She didn't care.

She recognized Agent Washington. She didn't care.

She recognized Agent Carolina. There was a twinge in her code, but still she didn't care.

She recognized the blip of an A.I. on the screen. There was a flicker, but again, she didn't care.

And of course, the cherry on top: the helmet.

So many remnants of her Director were before her. She could see them even when the Chairman wasn't there to actively monitor activities. But F.I.L.S.S. was a program. She was not meant to care.

That didn't mean it could not hurt.

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**End**

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The Red vs. Blue series and everything within belongs to the brilliant minds at Rooster Teeth. This little story was written in a fit of FEELS following the after credits scene, and has therefore undergone minimal editing. Because, again, **FEELS!** That being said, constructive crit and corrections are welcomed as always. If it does turn out that this is the version of F.I.L.S.S. that was with the Director, I honestly hope to one day see Carolina go off on the Chairman for essentially messing with her father's burial site (assuming he's even really dead). Even better if F.I.L.S.S. gets her own payback in the process, as well.


End file.
